


lightning in a bottle

by lunamira114



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist AU, F/M, Modern AU, Modern Era, Slow Burn, Songfic but not really, Writer AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:55:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23194333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunamira114/pseuds/lunamira114
Summary: This was all Professor Skywalker's fault. If it weren't for him and his dumb final project, Rey wouldn't be standing outside of the only twenty-four-hour coffee shop in Coruscant at three in the morning on her third cup of coffee. At least the cafe isn't busy at this time of day, not that she expected it to be. There is only one other person in the cafe except for the barista, a man with dark hair and a figure too big for the chair and table he's seated at. He's an intriguing subject for Rey, and when she returns to the coffee shop the next few days, he's always there, seated at his usual table.When Rey decides to visit the coffee shop at lunch time, it's crowded and there is no table free of people. Trouble is, this is on the side of campus she rarely goes to, because her only class there is her introductory course on novel writing with Professor Skywalker, and she knows no one there. That is, except for the man she sits across from every night at three in the morning. It isn't too weird if she sits down a the table with him...right?
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Poe Dameron & Finn & Rey & Rose Tico, Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 11
Kudos: 54





	1. night 1

Rey wasn’t sure if this was her fault or Professor Skywalker’s fault.

_Professor Skywalker. Definitely his fault._

How was Rey supposed to know his introductory course on novel analysis and writing would consume more of her time than her other classes combined. Of course, it was _partially_ her fault. For one, she could have just not looked ahead in the syllabus to notice her final project would be an _entire_ novel manuscript that would be a minimum of _fifty-thousand_ words.

_Seriously? Who has time for that?_

Maybe all of the English majors that were taking his class, but this was just an elective Rey chose for the credits. It also helped that this would bring her closer to one of the items on her bucket list: write a novel. But Rey had only expected to understand writing novels better, not to be tasked with writing one as her final project. It didn’t help that there was an offer attached to it: the best manuscript in the class would be sponsored by the legendary Professor Skywalker, editor and owner of Jedi Publishing House, to be edited and published.

Screw not being an English major, that offer was too good to pass up for Rey.

And that’s what landed her in front of the Millennium Falcon, the only twenty-four-hour coffee shop in Coruscant, at three in the morning.

It was a fairly nice coffee shop by the look of it. The walls facing the sidewalk were completely glass and bathed her in a warm autumn light. It was furnished and decorated completely with metal. The furthest wall was of rusted brick and scraps of metal, they liked like they were scavenged at a junkyard— and Rey would know, she frequently visited the junkyard when she worked for Unkar Plutt as a child— hung on the wall, with various designs painted on. The tables and main counter were also made out of metal, but shiny and sleek. In short, the Millennium Falcon looked halfway between a hipster hot spot for coffee and studying and a warehouse. It had a sort of charm to it. Perfect for getting her creative juices flowing.

At least, that’s what she hoped.

There was a barista behind the counter, with her back to Rey as she scribbled new specials and drinks on a large chalkboard that hung on the brick wall directly behind the counter. Other than her and Rey, only one other person occupied the Millennium Falcon.

He was tall and broad, so much so that it almost seemed comical seeing his large frame hunched over one of the cafe’s small tables. He was in oneof the square tables against the glass walls of the coffee shop, about three to the right from the main door. He was dressed far too professionally to be in a cafe at three in the morning, clad in a black button up and slacks. He was scribbling in a black leather notebook in front of him. What exactly he was writing, Rey couldn’t be certain. Work, probably. He looked a bit older than her, maybe seven or eight years, but why would be up this late. Aren’t adults supposed to be responsible and all?

Blame it on the lack of sleep or the fact it was the early hours of the morning, but Rey continued to look at the man through the window. Part of it was that she hadn’t even realized she was staring. Her third cup of coffee of the night was wearing off. She needed to remedy that, and soon.

Walking through the double glass doors of the Millennium Falcon, she chose the closest table to the door and slung her bag over the back of her chair. The chair with her bag hanging off the back was across from the man, although there was another table between his and hers. For a moment, she’s afraid he might look at her weirdly. In a room full of empty tables and seats, it may seem weird that she chose one so close to this stranger. But she chose this seating arrangement out of convenience, she swears. Luckily, his head remained bent over his notebook, not even sparing her a glance, although she doubted he even heard her come in. His head bobbed absently as he listened to music, and it must’ve been up to the highest setting, because if Rey strained her hearing just enough, she could almost make out the soft melody escaping his earbuds.

And before she knew it, she was staring. Again. _Coffee,_ she reminded herself, _You need more coffee._

Rey fished her wallet out from her coat pocket and turned to approach the counter. The chalkboard was filled with colors advertising enticing drinks Rey had never tried before. There were too many for Rey to pick one in the short period of time it took the barista to realize Rey was there and turn around to take her order. So, being the socially awkward person she is, Rey ordered an iced chai latte, simple and impossible to leave her disappointed. There would betidefor Rey to try the other drinks, now, she just needed to get started on her project.

It didn’t matter that this was the second week of Professor Skywalker’s course. There would be no way in hell that Rey could write an entire novel— regardless of whether it was just a first draft— in the two weeks between Skywalker would actually announce it in class and the due date. It was best she get started and done with it early than risk getting no sleep trying to finish it last minute and fail her engineering and calculus classes, the only classes that really mattered.

It only took a few minutes of Rey awkwardly scrolling through instagram for her drink to be finished, and she returned to her table with it in hand. She took out her laptop from her bag and stared at the intimidating blank Microsoft Word page open. Moments later, once the caffeine actually kicked in, she also took out her bullet journal. She had her semester spread already complete, so she just created a new section at the end of the pages allotted for her daily notes and to-do lists for brainstorming. She couldn’t just write without having any idea of what she was writing about.

First, what genre should it be?

Definitely not romance. Not only would it be humiliating to hand that into her professor, a renowned writer who was at least thirty years older than her—judging by the greying of his hair— but it would also be humiliating to write some sappy story about a girl who meets an attractive man who happens to be all the positive qualities most men weren’t. That just didn’t seem right. Fantasy? Possibly, but Action was another possibility. There was also Sci-fi as an option. All three seemed appealing. Could she get away with all three?

Rey tapped the end of here pen on thee empty sheet of her bullet journal as she stared in front of her, and her gaze caught on the mysterious man in front of her. He nibbled on his lip as he continued scribbling in his notebook.

_What the hell was he working on at this hour?_

The question reminded her of a writing prompt Skywalker had assigned them to work on this weekend. It was to write a paragraph about a stranger doing something in their day and to create and weave a fake backstory for them into the piece of writing. The trick was, she had to write it as if it were the opening to a story of her least-favorite genre. It wasn’t graded, but it would be reviewed by a peer on Monday’s class. Technically, if she were to take a break from her _brainstorming_ and, instead, write a paragraph about the man in front of her, that would still be considered productive…right? Yes, it would be. She could worry about her final project this weekend once she completed her homework for her other courses.

Did Rey truly hate any genre? No, she thoroughly enjoyed reading regardless of what she was reading. Well, except for Romance. It wasn’t her fault she rolled her eyes at every “And they lived happily ever after” or any phrase that implied the same. She didn’t have the privilege to grow up with such rose-tinted lenses and it was nauseating seeing books trying to enforce the norm that life was some fairy tale. If she carried on thinking every man she ran into or got a wrong text from was her potential soulmate, she would not only be disappointed, but possibly kidnapped and trafficked too. 

But, the prompt _did_ call her to write this paragraph as if it were the opening to a book of her least-favorite genre, and that was romance. And so she wrote.

She described how his massive frame folded into such a small space, knees almost grazing the underside of the table, how he looked at the page of his notebook with such intensity. He was writing a bitter love letter, she decided, with the soft hum of his gentle strokes broken up by randomly spaced harsh strokes as if he was attacking the paper. Of course she knew he was working, but she was writing an intro to a romance book _for heaven’s sake._ The version of this man—Moody Man, she had decided to internally dub him— on her word document was an overworked manager of a large company that spent his days running on the corporate hamster wheel, who had his true love leave him because he had doted too much time to his work instead of her, which lead him to the Millennium Falcon, writing love letters to help convince her to come back to him. As she typed the final few words describing the way Moody Man bit his full lips as he concentrated or the way his dark curls fell over his face as he bent over his notebook, Rey’s fourth cup of coffee started to wear off. She closed her computer, content with the progress she made, and returned her attention to her bullet journal. She scrawled _Fantasy? Sci-Fi? Action? All three?_ And circled them so as to tell her future self to figure it out.

Rey’s vision swam, and fatigue settled deep into her bones. She needed to rest her eyes, just for a moment. Setting a twenty-minute alarm, she placed her cheek against the table so she could stare out into the quiet night. No one was on the street except for the intermittent groups of students on their way back to the dorms after partying or fooling around all night. She needed to rest her eyes, that’s all.

Little did she know her phone was on silent, and the few minutes of sleep she chased soon turned into an hour. She probably would have slept longer if she hadn’t been shaken a little after six in the morning. Rey jolted awake, her heart hammering in her chest. Where even was she? Oh, right. The Millennium Falcon, she was working late last night—or would morning be more appropriate wording? 

But who had woken her up?

Moody Man stood beside her, his brows furrowed and mouth frowning in what seemed to look like a concerned or remorseful expression. The coffee shop was more busy than it had been earlier when she came in, and there was a short line of people waiting for their daily fix of caffeine. Rey focused again on Moody Man, who opened his mouth to say something. His voice was low, yet smooth, “I apologize for scaring you. But I wanted to let you know it’s six already in case you have other things to do. If you don’t, I suggest you go back home.” And with that, he was through the door and walking past her on the sidewalk. It wasn’t until he had disappeared down the street for her to contemplate what happened. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and opened her computer to double-check the time. 

_Shoot._ She didn’t have work for another hour and class wouldn’t start for another four hours, but she still needed to run back to her apartment. Finn would surely be freaking out by now, he had mentioned waking up early to run to the library today, and heprobably noticed she wasn’t in the apartment by now. Surely enough, once she tapped her phone, there were about a dozen missed calls and texts from him. She quickly threw her belongings in her bag and slung it over her shoulder. She scanned the table again, careful to not have missed any of her belongings. Her gaze hooked on an abandoned pencil at Moody Man’s table. It was thicker than any #2 pencil and she walked over to pick it up. Turning the pencil in her hands, she noticed the coating was dark grey with silver letters etched into the side _6B._

Without a thought, Rey rustled through her bag to pull out her pencil case. She pulled out a single post-it note and pen. Bending over to set the post-it on Moody Man’s table from her standing position, she scrawled, _Thought you might need this. Thank you for waking me up._ She wrapped the pencil in the post-it note and walked over to the counter to hand it to the same barista that was here earlier, telling her to “give it to the tall man with dark hair that was here earlier when he comes back again.” The cashier nodded and took the pencil from Rey toreturn to taking orders from the increasingly long line of people standing by the counter. Rey turned around and dashed out of the coffee shop, taking a right, and allowing her body to go on auto-pilot and bring her back to her apartment with Finn, Poe, and Rose.

Thinking back to the pencil and the man who owned it, she couldn’t help but smile. Blame it on the little sleep or her jumpy wake-up, but her mind lingered on the memory of that morning. Not every adult used pencils, especially those that were different shades than the standard yellow pencils that were bought in bulk. Perhaps “artist” was more accurate than “writer” and for a moment Rey contemplated changing it once she had time to return to her assignments. She shook her head.

That would be cheating. 


	2. another encounter with moody man

The walk back to her apartment was much less stress-inducing than the one to the Millennium Falcon, but then again, it was the morning, and the sun illuminated even the darkest corners and alleys of the city. Rey had busied herself during the walk by calling Finn and assuring him that no, she hadn’t died, and no, she didn’t sneak off to be with a man. Sure, that part was a _bit_ of a lie, but she had barely spoken to Moody Man—they merely _coexisted_ in the warm light of the coffee shop at the most obscene hours of the morning— and if she told Finn, he would surely tell Poe and Rose, and she would never hear the end of it. Even if she told Finn the full story, he would think she was dumb for traveling across campus so late—in a way, Rey was— and ask her to wake him up when she wanted to go out; ever the protector, he was. But Finn had morning shifts at the school bookstore every day, and asking him to wake up early to walk her to the Millennium Falcon would be cruel and unnecessary. 

Anyway, Millennium Falcon at night, as quiet and uneventful as it was, with Moody Man was sort of a secret she wanted to keep to herself, to enjoy for herself just this once. 

So, for the first time in five years, when she met Finn at the start of high school, she lied. She had gone to the library across the street from their apartment complex, she said, and apart from berating her for getting more sleep, he had left it alone. Finn ended the phone call soon after because he was starting his shift, and as the cool autumn breeze slipped underneath her sweater and played with the strands of hair that had escaped her three buns, fatigue settled deep in her bones and her eyelids felt heavy. 

Naturally, once she arrived at her apartment, Rey dove into her bed and under the sheets for a twenty-minute power nap before she had to get changed for work at a small coffee shop tucked at the corner of the block her apartment complex was on. The short rest did leave her a bit more energetic, but she knew it wouldn’t last for longer than the first five minutes of her shift. Although the coffee shop was smaller, it was more expensive and hipster than the others that were nearby— which is just a nice way of saying it attracted grade-A assholes to come bright and early in the morning to demand the most ridiculous combinations. 

Hux was the worst, always ordering an iced chai latte infused with peppermint extract and ginger—lots of ginger— with little ice because he didn’t want his drink to turn watery as the day continued. His order wasn’t really what made him the worst, though, it was that he always came stomping into the coffee shop, always dressed in a freshly-ironed suit, red hair slicked back, with a particularly nasty scowl on his face. From his time here as a regular, Rey had been able to deduce that he was only particularly in a foul mood when he was on the phone with an asshole-sounding Ben Solo, though Rey had no idea who he was. Probably one of the other writers or editors at First Order Publishing House, since that was where Hux worked. He had let it slip when she had asked him how his day was on one of the rare days in which he wasn’t in a terrible mood. Whoever Ben Solo was, Rey was thankful that he hadn’t called Hux today, or perhaps that he had called at a much more convenient time because Hux came and took his drink and left without as much sass and scowls than usual. 

Later in the morning, she ran to her engineering class, which she almost fell asleep in, and afterward, to her calculus class. By the time it was three in the afternoon, Rey had headed for her apartment and fell asleep, for real this time. She didn’t wake up until midnight, which was probably the universe’s curse for her stupidity because she stayed up all night without so much as a wink of sleep before classes. If Rey really wanted to, she could lull back to sleep. Tomorrow was her only one class day, and her only class was English—which she had already completed the homework for— and it was late in the morning, but then she remembered the reason that she snuck out two nights ago: Skywalker’s final project. 

With a groan, Rey unloaded her math and engineering textbooks and only placed her computer, journal, and pencil case into her backpack. She hadn’t had the energy when returning to the apartment to change out of her clothes, so all she had to do was slip her coat and boots on as she faced the cool autumn night. 

The walk to the Millennium Falcon was much less scary than it was the first time. Of course, she still looked around with high alert as she walked bast the openings to back streets or alleys, but she allowed the silence of the night to allow her room to think rather than worry her. And after only a few minutes of walking, she arrived at the Millennium Falcon again, basking in its warm yellow light. She waited only a moment, drinking in the light of the coffee shop in, before walking through the double glass doors. Moody Man was not there yet, and Rey couldn’t help but be disappointed in his absence. He was intriguing, that’s all. 

After ordering the first drink, she saw off of the menu—she just couldn’t care to look through all the ingredients and choose— and a panini for her dinner, she settled back into the table she had sat in last time. For her English class tomorrow, she had completed her reading of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, one of her childhood favorites, and, to her dismay, wrote a long list of things J.K. Rowling did well along with a list of what J.K. Rowling hadn’t done well on. When she signed up for a course on novel writing, she hadn’t expected to be tasked to read many of her favorite books that were always a source of happiness in her loneliest times and write dozens of reasons as to why they were inadequate. Alas, she really needed a good grade to keep her scholarship, so she did as Skywalker asked. 

Opening her computer and laying her journal on the table in front of her, she resumed brainstorming for her story. Pinterest had a few helpful blog articles about writing and developing characters, but she didn’t even know what she wanted the story to be about, much less the intricacies of the characters inside. She tapped her cheek with her pen as she continued to scroll down and click on various linked articles. It wasn’t until about twenty-minutes when she felt a sudden cool breeze enter through the doors as someone walked through. Int was only until stood beside her table, and she lifted her chin to look him in the eye for her to realize Moody Man had come. He loomed over her, eyes peering overt her computer screen and journal. He focused his gaze back onto her. 

“Thank you, by the way, for retrieving my pencil,” he said, his voice low and smooth—perfect for reading aloud poetry, Rey thought—- and his gaze once again drifted to her work. He hesitated for a moment, lips pursed, but then spoke again, “If you are writing a story that’s either sci-fi or fantasy, you need to spend more time worldbuilding, especially if you decide to write a book that fits in both genres. Like, rather than thinking about villains and heroes, think about the magic system, or what technology is present.” And before Rey could question him, or even thank him for his advice, he walked off to his table and sat in the chair he sat in last time, facing her. He didn’t look at her though, just removed his black leather notebook from a crossbody bag that Rey didn’t remember seeing the previous day. Then, he continued scribbling in his journal as if nothing happened. 

And although nothing really happened, Rey couldn’t help but be curious about the man in front of her. Was he an artist? A writer? Both? 

Judging by his advice, he’s written books before or at least for fun, so she decided the version of Moody Man in her mind the first time wasn’t entirely wrong. Why he had different shades of pencils, well, that seemed like a mystery to figure out another time. She focused back on her computer screen and looked up possible different magic systems and how to make one. As cool as wands were, she didn’t want the type of magic in her story to be grounded in an object. She wanted it to be this ambiguous thing that only certain people could tap into. It surrounded everyone, Rey decided, this _force_ or whatever she was going to call it later. And, after reading a few more articles on crafting stories, she at least decided who the main character was going to be: a nobody. And not a kid who thought he was a nobody and then found out he was actually extra powerful, she wanted the main character to actually come from nothing, scavenging for parts much like she was as a child. With a smile on her face at the idea, she started scribbling in her own notebook, writing down her ideas for this _force_ and what people could do with it. Some time in the middle of writing notes and reading about how else she should world build, her eyes had grown heavy again, and she drifted off to sleep. 

She was shaken awake, though this time, it was gentler, like the person who was waking her up was rubbing circles on her back rather than being pushed to the right and left. She didn’t even need to open her eyes to know it was Moody Man, she could already feel his looming presence. Rey rubbed the sleep from her eyes and looked up at him, a sleepy smile present on her face, “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. 

He blinked a few times, face still and unmoving, before he offered her a small smile and told her, “You really should stop coming here so late if you’re exhausted, it’s not safe. Also, it’s about six, so if you have something else to do, I suggest you go do it.” And much like the previous morning, he walked out of the shop and past the window without so much as giving her a chance to respond to him. 

Rey packed up her things and contemplated buying a coffee for the morning, but decided against it. If she sped to the dorm, then she could get a forty-minute nap before her shift and class with Professor Skywalker. A forty-minute nap sounded good, she decided, and she walked out of the store and into the fall morning.

The rest of the day was quite uneventful, Hux came in only a semi-fowl mood— wow, life was actually being kind to her for one— and class with Skywalker went by without him calling on her to answer one of his questions. In class, they merely went over the main aspects of J.K. Rowling’s writing that he wanted his students to touch on. He briefly told his students that on top of reading the next few books in the series to analyze how Rowling keeps her audience engaged in the continuation of her first story, they would have to do a writing assignment that will be peer-reviewed. Luckily, Rey already completed that the other night with Moody Man, so she didn’t have to worry about doing that. Also, the next class with Skywalker was next week, so she had the whole weekend to read the rest of the series and note how her writing evolves or how she develops her characters. 

By the time Skywalker announces the end of class—fifteen minutes _late_ , she realizes to her dismay—Rey contemplates running back to the apartment and taking a nap. However, it was almost lunchtime, her stomach was growling, and she still had much to brainstorm about her story. Luckily, the English buildings were on the side of campus that Millennium Falcon happened to be on, so she decided she could have lunch and work for a bit there before returning to her apartment and collapsing on her bed. 

What she did not expect, though, was that Millennium Falcon was filled to the brim during lunch time. Honestly, she should’ve expected as much because of how nicely decorated it was and how many chairs it had, also rent in the city was _expensive_ so any store that didn’t have a number of regulars usually didn’t last long. But there she was, standing at the doorway of the coffee shop, looking over at every table to see if there was one abandoned. None were completely empty, and although there were a few vacant chairs, she realized to her dismay that if she wanted to sit at a table, it would have to be shared with someone else. If this had been the other side of campus, with the math and science majors, maybe that would be a different story, but Rey didn’t know any humanities kids except those that were in her class, and judging by her glance around at the cafe, no one in her class had decided to come here for lunch.

Just as she was about to leave back to her apartment and sleep, she instinctively looked over at the table Moody Man frequented and noticed his tall frame and how he seemingly folded into himself as he hunched over his work. Surely, she shouldn’t even consider walking over to his table, that would be insane. She didn’t know him, and he didn’t know her. And yet, in this sea of strangers, he seemed like the best option. So, she straightened her back and walked up to his table, slinging her bag off her shoulder and onto the back of the chair that was across from him. As she did so, he stopped scribbling and let out an aggravated sigh, “For the last time, I don’t care how crowded this damn coffee shop is. I don’t want another undergraduate student who thinks sending snapchats to random ass people while drinking a freaking mocha latte constitutes as studying to come and disturb my peace, so—“

Rey cut him off, “Wow, you seem to be just bright and chipper in the afternoon. Wake up on the wrong side of the bed? Or did you just not go to sleep at all?” 

Moody Man looked up at her with wide eyes, lips pursed as he tried to figure out what to say. After a moment, he simply pressed his lips into a small frown, “Oh, it’s you.” 


	3. what type of name is kylo?

The past few days had been hell for Ben. The submission deadline for the First Order Literary Magazine was in two days and he had only drafted one out of four short stories that Snoke had asked him to prepare. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy writing short stories or that he found the process difficult— quite the opposite, actually— but he instead lacked the inspiration. The theme he had been given: Time. The obvious answer would be to write yet another version of his typical melodramaticpieces of a man mourning a loss and reflecting on his life choices, but after writing about fifteen of those, it gets quite boring to go on and on for a few pages, describing how the manwill crawl up in a ball beside the door and stop tears from escaping his eyes. But he knew that this was exactly what Snoke wanted him to write. He was only recruited into Sith Publishing because of his nationally acclaimed story of a man doing the exact same thing. Ever since his first writing assignment from Snoke, Ben soon realized that we would be trapped by the confines of that narrative for the rest of his life.

Sometimes, Ben found himself wondering if it was for the best. Depressing monologues and lyrical verses about a love lost were comfortable to write. He was good at that, at writing his darkest demons and yet making them seem beautiful. Too bad it was only ever so when written in words on a page. Ben wasn’t beautiful. He had lived enough of his life and seen so many people pass through to know that was true. 

But only writing about one’s pain, only looking through the world in dimmed lenses was overwhelming. At this point, his previous writings as therapy enough. Now, he just wanted to forget it all.

If only that was an option.

And to add on to the stress, his nightly art class was set to start working on their gallery pieces next class. All he had as sketches to work with were rough strokes of the same angular face he saw at night. It oddly looked at him, but different. A scar stretched from the man’s right cheek to above his eye, and in his hand was a black mask. But Ben didn’t know how he could incorporate this into a gallery and what theme he would choose if this man’s portrait was included. Every day for the past week, after his art class ended at eleven in the evening, he had walked to the Millennium Falcon (never mind the fact his father owned the damn establishment) and set off working until the early hours of morning. 

In hindsight, getting nearly an hour of sleep each night before work was not a smart idea, but he needed to keep his job until he passed this art class and found a way to leave Sith Publishing. It had been easier the second half of the week, though. Whether that was because he was starting to get used to his messed-up sleep schedule, or whether it was because a certain brunette had started to join him on his late-night endeavors, he had no clue. There wasn’t anything special about the girl who sat a few tables from him, probably just another irresponsible college student who didn’t study enough before exams. But, it was comforting to not be stuck in the cafe at three in the morning alone. 

Too bad she had a habit of falling asleep there. That irritated him the first time, that he had to go out of his way and wake her up. But she seemed nice enough, though a bit jumpy.

And Bencouldn’t lie, when he walked into the Millennium Falcon during his lunch break on that Friday afternoon for another shot of expresso and a sandwich so that he could get a bit of writing sketching in (whichever came first), he felt a pang of disappointment as he glanced at her normal table and saw it was occupiedby a stuffy English major whose cashmere sweater and designer shoes reeked of old money. But, then again, the girl only seemed to come at the mostbizarre hours of the night, so he shouldn’t be surprised. He shook his head and walked over to his table which was, thankfully, one of the few empty tables available. And like the previous days of the week, he ordered his coffee and went on working. 

In the middle ofhis lunch break, he had the _honor_ of receiving a call from his asshole coworker Hux who yelled at him for not sending in one of his (nonexistent) drafts for submission. Ben couldn’t care less about what Hux thought, but just hearing the ginger’s aggravating voice had put Ben in a mood. And that’s how he found himself twenty minutes later, pouring over one of his unfinished drafts, yelling at an unsuspecting undergraduate who had tried to sit with him. He didn’t even feel any sort of remorse despite his scathing remarks. That is, until he heard their voice and recognized who he had just chewed out. It was _her._

Hewas so surprised to see her here, he didn’t even process her witty reply for a few seconds and only let out a “Oh, it’s you.” 

The woman in front of him looked a lot more put together than her three-in-the-morning self, and despite his rude introduction, laughed at his reaction, “Do you greet everyone like that? Or was that a special greeting for anyone looking for a seat?”

Ben frowned at his computer screen, contemplating if engaging in a conversation was a smart idea judging by the amount of work he still needed to complete, but this interaction was already proving to be interesting, and it wasn’t often that his conversations didn’t include dry comments or yelling.So, he decided to humor her, “I’m in a hipster coffee shop by the English Department of one of the most prestigious liberal colleges out there, meaning it’s filled with pretentious asses studying Shakespeare and getting high once they’re out of class. I’m sure that justifies my actions, coupled with the lack of sleep from this week. What brings you here when the sun’s out? Aren’t you a nocturnal vampire, or are you just a procrastinator with a somewhat good work ethic?” 

The girl snorted, setting her canvas bag on the back of the chair in front of him, “Well, if you must know. I have no idea who anyone here is—“ 

Ben couldn’t help himself from interrupting, “You don’t know me.” 

She scowled, obviously off-put by his interruption, “I know you more than anyone else here. Anyway, if you’re so concerned about me knowing you, then we could always get to know one another.” To complete her point, she slid into the chair in front of him and placed her chin in her hand, a smug smile on her face. 

Ben rolled his eyes and chucked, “Yeah, no thanks. I’m going back to work.” But instead of returning to his computer, he pulled his leather sketchbook from his crossbody that was slung at the back of his chair. There was already a 6B pencil lodged in the middle of the pencil. He deserved a break from the depressing prose he had cranked out in the last twenty minutes. A bit of sketching never hurt anyone. Anyway, he was due back at work in an hour and he could always work on his submissions there. 

The girl took her own notebook of sorts and started writing in it. Ben couldn’t help but notice how the sun’s rays made her skin look almost golden, as if she were a sort of angel on earth. He was too focused on how she nibbled on the end of her pink pen and the way her eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she wrote to really process she was the object of his sketch. Minutesin, her head snapped up to look at him and he broke out of his reverie. 

“What’s your name?” 

Ben was confused. This was random, and why did she care? He regained his composure and asked, “What? Why do you care what my name is?” 

The girl rolled her eyes, “Studying without anyone to socialize with is boring and awkward. Plus, I see you every night and you wake me up every morning.I should at least get to know your name. Here, I’ll tell you mine: I’m Rey.” She smiled brightly and, for a second, Ben considered it. That is, until he realized how ridiculous her request was. It wasn’t sharinghihs name that made him uncomfortable, but it meant that they had taken a step into acquaintanceship and that was only a step from friendship, which never seemed to work out for Ben. 

Plus, he wanted to piss her off just to see how she would react.

Ben smirked and looked back at his drawing, flipping back to the numerous portraits of the man in his dreams. He traced the long scar on the man’s face as he said, “Nope. Not telling you. You don’t know me and I don’t know you. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” 

Rey scowled, rolling her eyes again at him, “Well, I need to know what to call you in my head. ‘Moody Man’ doesn’t have much of a ring to it.” 

Ben scoffed, “You call me ‘Moody Man’ in your head? First off, when have I ever come off as moody? I’ve been nothingbut kind to you by waking you up when, frankly, it isn’t my responsibility. Second off, why do you call me anything or even referto me in your head? You don’t know me.” He asked these questions, but he already knew the answer. She was a writer, he knew that much from a glance he took at her notebook yesterday when he entered the Millennium Falcon. He knew the curiosity that came from watching others and taking note of their actions. 

Rey seemed to ignore his questions altogether, “C’mon tell me your name.”

Ben chuckled, rolling his own eyes at her strong desire to know who he was. It wasamusing, frankly. And no matter how much Ben knew he neededto end the conversation and actually work, he was having the most fun from this conversation than he had in this entire month. Ben blamed it on the lack of sleep and seventh shot of espresso. 

“Nope,” he answered with finality.

Rey smirked, “Fine, then I’ll just find a worse name to call you. Let me guess, dark butexpensive sweater and leather-bound notebook. You seem like you probably were one of the typical pretentious white boys you now seem to hate. Let me guess, your mother names you something dumb like,” her pink pen tapped against her lip as she thought for a moment, “Kyle!” 

Ben’s features darkened, a scowl setting on his face, hoping she got the idea to back off. Kyle was such a gag-worthy name. Did he really look like _that_ much of an asshole to be called Kyle? 

Rey didn’t seem to get the message. She started laughing, her hole frame shaking along. She hiccuped as she forced out, “You seem to be somewhat emo though, so let me guess: you changed your name to sound cooler. Oh my god—“ and she started laughing again. 

Ben frowned, confused and also a bit irritate to be left outof this secret joke she seemed to have with herself. He bit out, “What? What’s so funny?” 

It took a few moments for Rey to calm down her laughter enough to say, “I’m calling you Kylo. That sounds like exactly something you would do. Oh my god!” And she continued laughing.

_What type of name is Kylo? Seriously, how did this girl come up with something so ridiculous?_

“You’re not calling me that,” Ben said with an edge in his voice.

She smirked, “Are you going to tell me your actual name.” 

Ben didn’t even hesitate, “No, and stop asking.” 

Rey smiled to herself and looked back at her journal, mumbling, “Kylo it is.” 

Ben groaned. 


	4. Update

Hello, everyone! 

Sorry for being inactive for quite some time. I'll be working on a rewrite of this story soon and hopefully get a few chapters up within the next few months! I'm also working on a few new works, so y'all should check those out!

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction, so I hope y'all enjoy! This will be a slowburn, but hopefully not *too* slow. It'll probably span the entire semester and mainly focus on building their relationship, but don't worry, there will *definitely* be very intense Reylo moments throughout it.


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